Wordlessly
by snuggled
Summary: When Tsuna died, hope died with him. Contains trace amounts of 8059, but it's light enough to be friendship only.
1. Lead

_I've had this bubbling around in my head for a while. It's a death fic, and I tried a completely different style for this, so I hope it's satisfactory. This is my first…well…not really my first Reborn fic, but it's the first I've posted._

_This single chapter is enough to make a good one-shot, but I've already started on the second chapter. Sorry if Gokudera and Yamamoto seem so useless in this. I just...don't really see what else they could do... My apologies if anyone is a bit miffed about that. I'm a bit close-minded in situations like this. -face palm-  
_

_(It starts with sap, and it's going to end with sap, so don't get hung up with the angst in this.)_

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**Wordlessly**_  
Chapter One_

"It's fine," Tsuna says simply, turning and giving him that reassuring smile that never fails to calm him down.

But it's not fine, is it? It's not fine when there's a threat of attack. Rumors of a hunt, being reduced to destroying the Vongola rings, with the Arcobaleno babies all but dead. It's not fine, but that won't stop the Tenth from reassuring him. Nothing could stop the Tenth from reassuring everyone that everything was alright, that everything would turn out fine, even if everything going on is pointing otherwise.

"T-Tenth!" In a brief moment of childishness, he's back to shouting like that immature little punk ass kid he'd been back then. "You don't understand! We can't let you out of our sight; not now! I won't allow it! What if someone attacks you!? What if–What if the Millefiore–"

"Maybe we should give Tsuna some time to himself, Gokudera…"

The Italian turns, swallowing anger and turning to look at Yamamoto. The scar beneath his chin is a grim reminder of the state of the world right now. The scar he received in an attempt to protect his father, almost branded on his face to remind him of his regret and shame and pain. It's all he can do to stop himself from bringing that up again – Yamamoto will only go silent and the Tenth will scold him.

Tsuna sighs, running a hand through his hair with a fleeting smile. "I'm only going to be inside for a moment to pick up something for Kyoko," he says, firm and allowing no rebuttal. "You'll be outside the entire time, and I'll be safe. It will be _fine_."

And this time, Gokudera believes it.

He glances at Yamamoto, who merely gives him an empathetic shrug of his shoulders as if to agree he's not pleased with the way things are but he respects Tsuna's need for privacy, and turns his eyes to the ground.

"Right, Ten– no, _Tsuna_."

It's the first time he's ever called him anything other than "Tenth" or "Boss" in what feels like the entire time he's known the other man, but it feels right. It calms him, seals his belief that everything will be alright. He's fine. Everything's fine. We'll get through this, Gokudera, even if it kills me, and I believe in you, Tenth. Yes, I do. I really, really do. I always have and always will.

The two men beside him pause in stunned silence before Tsuna's smile is too bright for Gokudera to bear, as he smiles at him like the entire weight of their current situation has been lifted from his shoulders completely. Yamamoto makes a happy sound over to his left, and he knows he's done something that will change things between them forever. Closer than right hand man, closer than a best friend, he's become something akin to a brother, as if they were never brothers to begin with. They were before to a degree, but there had been a wall – boss and subordinate. That wall feels as if it's been lifted, and Gokudera suddenly finds himself not even caring if he's Tsuna's right hand man anymore.

He's merely a companion, and Tsuna is something attainable, something tangible and real, like he's never quite known Tsuna until this very moment.

"Thank you, Gokudera," Tsuna replies in a voice holding a type of brightness that can't be described with mere words. The honorific is lost – he's accepted the shift in positions, welcomed it with open arms. He…is his friend, his companion, his _partner_. Nothing more, nothing less.

A bond without a true name, something like brothers but something deeper than that.

Maybe Tsuna has always felt this way, but to Gokudera, it's new and foreign. It's a good feeling that swells in his chest as Tsuna walks across the store into the jewelry shop, intent on finding something suitable for presenting to his precious, precious Kyoko.

Gokudera stares at the store, hears Yamamoto chuckling honestly for the first time since his father was killed, and he knows he will never let _Tsuna_ forget this moment for as long as he lives. He won't be pushy like he was as a child, but he will remind him every once in a while.

"Tsuna," he murmurs, tasting the name on his lips. It's more pleasing to his ears than Tenth, more pleasing than Boss. He glances over at Yamamoto, eyes filled with something he can't quite place, watching as Yamamoto's expression changes from cheerful back to its quiet calm.

A few cars drive by, some pull over and stop to pick something up; one pulls up across the street from the jewelry shop and stops. A man steps out and walks into the jewelry shop, stays there for four or five minutes, then comes back out holding a single velvet box in his hand – a wedding ring for a fiancée perhaps, a broach for a mother, who knows. He gets back into the car; it remains on the street.

"Gokudera," Yamamoto says quietly as it transpires, leaning against the wall near the alley with his arms crossed over his chest. "I think…that was the first time you called him by his name. In quite a while, actually. Maybe…even ever."

"…I know," Gokudera replies complacently. Not irritated or jealous or begrudgingly, just complacently. "It's…nice. Not looking at him as the Boss. I'd forgotten somewhere along the line that he was…well…for lack of a better way of saying it…_human_." He's practically spilling his guts to Yamamoto, the baseball nut, the idiot that laughs at everything, the man who just now has seemed to lose that annoying naivety from merely nine years ago, but he doesn't even care. "Somewhere along the line…he reached a level I could merely look on and admire… He was…unattainable…tch…if that makes any sense." His cheeks tinge pink in his admittance of something he can't quite describe himself.

"Somewhere along the line…" Yamamoto starts, his face suddenly turning serious–

But then he's interrupted by the sounds of gunfire, blaring and loud. Screams erupt from bystanders and pedestrians, and both men turn. The world starts to spin, everything seems to move in slow motion. In typical Godfather-style, the windows of the car have been rolled down, and out have popped two – maybe three, maybe four, it's so hard to comprehend what's happening right now – sub-automatics and thousands of tinkling shells are raining onto the ground beneath the car. The front of the jewelry store is starting to chip and crack as all of bullets tear it up, glass shattering, black grooves notching into every surface, including the sidewalk…and there, in the middle of it all–

Gokudera's heart stops cold in his chest, his entire body goes cold and he's sure his face is sheet white, but even though he wants to shout and scream and jump in and do something, he knows it's too late for that and there's nothing in this world he can do to save Tsuna. Yamamoto, on the other hand, jerks forward, hand clamping down on the Italian's shoulder, fingers digging tighter and tighter, not frozen from moving but desperately trying to find a way to act.

Both are going deaf, but they can't even bring themselves to wince from the noise. It's all over before they know it and all they can do as the car starts to pull away is maybe, just maybe, destroy it and leave no survivors to report this back to whoever is responsible… Or maybe they can track it, Gokudera thinks as he stumbles numbly, jerkily, forcing legs to step forward in crippling shock, and maybe Yamamoto is tending to that, maybe. Hopefully.

The smell of gunpowder and smoke is heavy in the air, but it's a different kind of raw that's overtaking his lungs. Not even his dynamite from childhood can compare to this smell. He falls to his knees beside Tsuna, blood pooling at his knees and beginning to spread out into the street. He coughs back tears and anger and shakily puts a hand to his friend's neck.

The coppery stench of warm, wet blood fills his nostrils, thick and heavy, turning his stomach sour in a way his sister's cooking never could.

The entire world goes silent, as if it's just him and Tsuna's body there on the street, in a sound-proof bubble. The stench of blood is heady and hazy, or maybe that's just him about to pass out from shock. Every bullet hole on Tsuna's body, every tear from the bullets every groove and impact wound, is losing blood. His white dress shirt soaks it all in, turning blood red the longer he stares, and it's then that something breaks. Something inside him snaps.

His mouth opens, he inhales sharply, and the silence is shattered by his scream. It's a loud, broken wail, heavy with anger, heavy with regret, heavy with anguish and pain, like a part of him had also been gunned down in that moment, like a part of him is also lying there on the ground, pooling blood and soaked in red.

Yamamoto's beside him in an instant, grabbing at him, and Gokudera's not sure why, but the taller man keeps shouting over and over that there's nothing they can do, there's no way he could have survived, he's bleeding too badly, his heart's already stopped beating, stop shaking him, Gokudera, put him down, there's nothing we can do. Let him go, Gokudera.

_You're hurting him._

That breaks through the shock. He freezes and releases his death grip on Tsuna's arms, takes a deep breath in a desperate attempt to regain his composure. He couldn't be hurting him for Tsuna's chest isn't even rising weakly and Yamamoto's pressed two fingers to his neck…but he's… He's hurting Tsuna, all the same. He has to get it together; he has to find himself in this. It isn't like him, and he takes another breath. He tries vainly to gain some sense of control. But he doesn't stand; he doesn't move from the body. Sitting there on his knees, trembling and shaking all over, unable to believe it, unable to fathom it–

The Tenth…he's dead.

Their Boss, dead.

…_Tsuna_.

Tsuna is _gone_.

What are they supposed to do now? What do they do? Who do they call? Where do they go? They can't just stay on this street at the scene of a mob hit, even if it's Tsuna lying there on the street. Even knowing they can't afford to be here on the crime scene and they have to leave Tsuna's body behind, they can't move.

It's the police sirens that finally snap the two men from what is going on. It's Gokudera standing, snarling out a feral, completely reflexive, "Where did they go, Yamamoto?" that awakens their brains and gets them thinking. It's when Yamamoto stands up, hand clenching into a fist and the blue flame emanating around his ring growing sharper and cleaner, that they finally know what they are going to do.

Yamamoto had released the swallow on reflex, after all.

"Follow me," Yamamoto murmurs darkly, his voice dangerously over the edge.

Their eyes meet, both linked in a common goal – the Storm Guardian, and the Rain Guardian, readying the tempest – and something clicks within them. A switch turns on and everything's fine. Wordlessly, they speak with their eyes. We'll get through this, Gokudera, even if we have to bust a few heads, and I'm in it with you, Yamamoto. Yes, I am. Everything will be fine.

We'll make everything right, even if it kills us.


	2. Masked

_I've been sick. I went swimming at 2 am three nights in a row at a friend's house. Yeah. Not smart – don't ever do that. You WILL get sick, even if you're one of those weirdoes with the immune system of a tank that only gets sick once in a blue moon. I'd know – I'm one of them. First summer cold I think I've ever gotten. It's hell and is lasting a hell-of-a-lot longer than I expected it to._

_Anyway. There isn't any Gokudera or Yamamoto in this chapter. This chapter is about how everyone else takes it. I know, I know. This totally detracts from the rest of the story's plot (though, admittedly not where the synopsis is concerned) and blah, blah blah what the hell are you thinking give me more 8059 right now you bitch augh why aren't you writing what people came here for bring on the porn and copious amounts of angsty angst– Maybe I'm the only one who sees this as detracting from the rest of the plot? People are their own worst critics, after all. Hmmm… _

_Anyway– Characters not included and reasons why:_

Tsuna's parents_ – I am not sure whether they're alive or not. (God, I hope they are. They're so cute and bubbly, aren't they?)_

Mukuro or Chrome_ – I don't pay attention to them enough to remember what exactly was going on with them during this time. (Weren't they like…hiding from the law or something, anyway? I know they hear about it because Mukuro knows Tsuna's dead in the manga…but you won't hear about it in this fanfic.) Plus, I know for sure they won't be anywhere near in character. (Chrome's really cute and all…but Mukuro is hard for me to get IC because he's such a raep-face.) Augh._  
Haru_ – Clearly, she was not aware Tsuna was dead in the manga. (Though I'm under the assumption Tsuna's death has been fabricated canonically, this is my fan-story, so he's completely dead, dead-as-a-doornail, not-even-coming-back-with-chains dead. ……That was a Charles Dickens reference…in case anyone didn't know…)_

_I apologize if it's boring. And that some of the characters are out of character (LAMBO, gawd, you stupid cow! Why can't I get you right??). And that the time in this is way off. (The weirdness is mainly due to the fact that Italy's time is like…five or four hours or something like that before Japan's time, but even that's no excuse to how awkward it still wound up being.) _

_God, I need to find my writing style in this. Sorry it's off the wall and everything._

_I hope everyone enjoys it anyway. (COUGHifangstisevenconsideredenjoyableCOUGH)_

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**Wordlessly  
**_Chapter Two_

At ten in the morning, Tsuna is gunned down.

When Tsuna died, hope died with him.

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He likes waking up early to greet the sunrise, to watch the sky turn from pale blue to blazing, fiery yellow at the edge of the horizon. But he also likes sleeping in just to catch the sight of the woman beside him bathed in the light slanting through the windows. She's beautiful and dark and lovely, mature and kind, and maybe she hates children, but that fact's charming in its own way. He's never met someone more perfect in his eyes; and they are perfect for each other.

He likes watching the sun bathe her face as she slowly opens her eyes and looks up at him, that smile he'd watch whenever she came over to talk with his sister matured with age, matured with experience. She leans over, knowing full well his penchant for morning wood and the need of release, but the phone interrupts before her lips can trail any lower than his jaw.

He doesn't like phones, as of this moment. He doesn't like phones at all.

It's from his briefcase on the other side of the room – the one reserved for emergencies regarding the family.

With a shout, he throws the covers off and slams his feet on the ground, jumping up, not even caring to pull his boxers back on, to go get it. He answers it, expecting something regarding Byakuran and the Millefiore or the Varia needing something, but…but he's only half right. His face pales, and a single question runs through his head–

"_How do I tell this to Kyoko?"_

"Ryohei?"

He wants to answer, but he can't find the words, can't even cover it with a laugh or a lie or an extreme exclamation. It's sour in his chest, sour in his mouth, and he finds his back muscles clenching tightly on instinct. So, instead, he just stands there and absorbs the blow, muscles clenched as he stands stark naked in the bedroom, not even able to drop the phone in shock. She calls his name, but he can hardly hear her; he's far, far away, beyond anything she can fathom. Thickly, he finds his voice, and when he speaks, the words aren't as powerful as he hoped they'd be.

He doesn't say it to inform her, but he says it to make it real to him, make it gritty and real and horrifically true.

"Sawada… No…_Tsuna_… …Tsuna's _dead_."

The last word hangs in the air like he's been given a death sentence. He's already far away again by the time the woman in his bed finds her voice to ask him how he's going to tell his sister. Ryohei makes a snap decision – no more sumo stories, no more lies. He won't tell her Tsuna's dead, only that his work is getting in the way of things lately. It's the truth, maybe only a half-truth, but a truth all the same.

"This doesn't leave the room," he says, turning to give his sister's best friend an aching, pleading look. "As far as Kyoko's concerned, Tsuna is alive and well."

At eleven thirty-four, Ryohei is the first to hear the news.

It's the first time since his master died he's ever felt this powerless.

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Sometimes, Lambo comes back to visit Japan. As part of the Bovino famiglia, he has duties – usually small and low-level – in Italy, but he enjoys it whenever he has the chance to come to Japan. Where leisure is concerned, he visits with Haru and I-pin the most, and sometimes Kyoko will be with them. He likes having known them for so long – it makes it easier to not view them as kittens and flirt with them mercilessly.

That's where he is now – in Japan, that is – walking beside I-pin as she makes a delivery. He likes to tease her, a habit that carried on even after they grew up. He can't help himself – she still makes the best faces.

She's talking about her studies, complaining about how heavy the delivery is today even though they both know she could lift it with one hand if she felt like it. He wants to carry it for her, but maybe that would wound her pride, maybe, if she cared about that sort of thing. He knows she doesn't, but his desire to help her falls short. In the long run, he'd decided it's not worth pursuing her at all – she still explodes when someone mentions Hibari, and besides, his main place is Italy. Italy is where his heart resides, even though a piece of it has managed to wedge itself tightly in Japan.

She turns and looks at him, asks him how things are going. He's doing fine, even when they aren't going fine, even when they're going swimmingly, and he doesn't have a complaint in the world, but how is I-pin doing, if she doesn't mind him asking? Is she fine? Has she been going number two every day and staying regular? Is everything healthy? Has she found any lumps?

"You're a pervert," she says, turning red in the face.

He laughs, knowing he's acting like he used to when he was five, but he can't help but tease her and revert back to how he was as a child when he's around her – only her, strangely; none of the other girls he talks to get this treatment from him. He wants to go get something for lunch, if that's possible. If she'd _have_ lunch with him, that is. If yes, he knows a place he's been craving since the last time he visited.

It's always the noodle store I-pin works at that he craves, though he's not quite sure if she's caught on, yet.

"You mean the noodle store I work at, Lambo-san?" As she speaks, her eyes are full and clear, seeing right into him as if she'd known from the second he stepped foot in Japan, as if she'd known the second he started chasing her around in their younger days. Despite his best wishes, he finds his eyes widening, unsure of what to say.

"You know how to treat the ladies," she giggles, cheeks warming slightly. "But you're clueless as to how to treat the ones you like, Lambo-san…"

"Is that a yes?" he mumbles quizzically, glancing down at his chest subtly to make sure just the right amount of skin's revealed. He has to look his best, after all. Maybe she'll say no, or maybe she'll tell him off and call him a pervert again, who knows.

He looks back at her, pretending he wasn't just checking to see how attractive he was looking at the moment, pretending that he's still that annoying little five-year-old that'd wipe snot on other people who annoyed him. (Though, that's really only a ruse.)

She nods her head – promises she'll meet up with him after her shift is over. Maybe he can come over to her house and have some tea while she studies, as long as he promises not to distract her. Lunch will come first, though, he reminds her, even though he'd rather eat after the fact.

Lunch has to come first, because he's starving. And he _is_ starving, though he doesn't mind putting in on hold until after being alone with her for a while, just the two of them and no one else.

They part ways after she promises lunch; he smiles to himself, a quirked, slightly victorious smile, and it occurs to him that this is probably the only victory he's ever received that's been on this high of a level. His chest swells with pride.

His pocket vibrates, and he answers the phone.

It's Tsuna. The signals from his rings went out earlier today. The police assessed the crime scene – bullets everywhere, single casualty, maybe twenty years old, a little bit older, twenty-four or five, most probably, looks like a mob hit straight out of a movie, but this isn't Italy, it's Japan, so whoever did this was a sick son of a bitch– and…it's confirmed. It's Tsuna. _Tsuna_ is the casualty.

Tsuna is _dead_.

Tears begin to roll down his cheeks as it hits him head on, sinking in slowly but surely. Before he knows it, he's sobbing, but he's not even ashamed and no one's on the other line calling him a crybaby. He's trying his hardest not to sit down right there and curl up like he usually does, but it's all so hard and Tsuna's dead and everything's going wrong in Italy with the Millefiore family, and now Japan is a warzone, too, and it's too much for him to handle, even knowing he needs to suck it up.

He's not hungry anymore. Nothing's right anymore; he feels so helpless.

At eleven fifty-nine, Lambo is the second to hear the news.

The helplessness he felt in the past is nothing compared to how he feels right now.

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Hissing out threats, shouting out angry curses, prancing about, kicking ass, murdering, drinking, laughing and bickering and arguing over breakfast. They're like a close-knit, fucked up, dysfunctional family if there ever was one. It's about nine and a half years later but they haven't changed a bit, except gotten stronger and gained a new member of their core seven to replace Mammon. Things are bound to get out of hand, but one word from their general and that's enough to silence them all.

"He's dead," Xanxus mutters after he downs his entire glass of the finest wine in one gulp, and everyone goes silent. When he heard the news, no one knows, but they do know it's serious enough by the look on his face and the weight in his words.

"Shishishi~"

Belphegor is smiling like a child with a new toy, and Lussuria's pursing his lips, hands linked against his cheek like he's eager to add another corpse to his collection if it's good-looking enough to suit his tastes. Levi waits expectantly, and Fran, Mammon's replacement, merely sits there, wondering with Squalo why the general looks so…_upset_?

Squalo, for the first time, _quietly_ asks Xanxus what he means and who he's talking about.

"The head of the family," Xanxus mutters begrudgingly, darkly, "_Tsuna_." There is a tone to it they can't describe in words, a piece of it that resonates with something none of them have heard from him before. Remorse? Regret? None of them can put a word to it, but it's not like their general, not at all.

The core seven, minus Fran who wasn't there in Japan with them, go quiet with the lower-ranking members of the Varia, each feeling something none of the others ever could. They alone knew him personally – all of them disliked him like they disliked most other people, but they all felt something for him. Respect, loyalty – they still felt it for Tsuna, whom had _finally_ won them over with how strong he'd gotten in merely nine and a half years.

Fran recovers the quickest and makes a quip to Belphegor that ends with a fight, and everything returns to as it once was, but there's a bitter tension in the room that lingers, a tension they all ignore.

At six in the morning, in Italy, the Varia are the third who hear the news.

Only Squalo knows that Xanxus will be drunk by noon and that his office will be in shambles.

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Bianchi hasn't changed at all, he decides, as he watches her pour a glass of cheap wine and down it greedily at six-thirty in the morning – getting a head-start before lunch. At least, she hasn't changed in appearance. Her hair is still long; her face has barely aged; and she stills wears the same clothes she used to wear, as if she'd stopped aging, caught in a standstill, after Reborn died.

"Fuuta," she mumbles absentmindedly, "I don't want to have another scare like the other day again. We barely made it through with our necks attacked."

"Yes, Miss Bianchi," he says, cheerfully as ever. "I'll work on making the rankings come to me faster, if you'd like. They're already faster than when I was a child, but I think with more practice I could easily–"

"Have you contacted Tsuna recently?"

She has things on her mind, he notices. "Yes," he answers, cautiously. "I contacted him two weeks ago, when we were able to take a brief pause from the reconnaissance. He said he would contact me soon. I should think we'll get a message today."

As if on cue, Bianchi's cell phone rings. She reaches for it, answers it, as if expecting bad news. What she feels in her gut, he has no idea, but if it bothers her so much, there's only one person that could possibly… Only one person, linked deeper than blood, though it runs in their veins only half as pure…

The other line is quiet for a moment, and the feeling that something bad has happened rises up in Bianchi's gut ten-fold.

"Something… Did something happen? Is…Is Hayato–" Her voice is almost pleading.

The words cut her off and drill into her ear, marinate in her brain.

She repeats that word–

"Dead."

It's quiet, so quiet Fuuta strains his ears to catch it. And when he does, a chill runs up his spine. His voice quivers for a moment, hesitant to know exactly what has happened.

"Who's dead? Gokudera-nii…is…is he dead?" he asks the older woman, watching her closely, watching her hands clench.

"No," she replies stiffly–

"It's Tsuna."

Fuuta's face pales, and tears well up in his eyes. "Tsu-Tsuna-nii… He's…He's _dead_?" It's a rhetorical question, he knows, and he's glad she doesn't repeat the answer.

Before he knows it, he finds the tears dripping to his chin. He turns away, but in a moment they won't bring up ever again, she wraps her arms around him and lets him cry into her shoulder. Her hand rises to his hair and she runs her hands through it, picturing warm summer nights, a black fedora ringed with orange off to the side as the sleeping cap atop his head bobs with each soft breath in that open-eyed repose. It all comes back, like he's died a second time, and she leans her head in, feels that soft, soft hair against her cheek, and takes a deep breath.

This is no time for tears – there's something much more important she needs to ask.

"How's Hayato taking the news?" she asks firmly, ready to force out an answer if she needs to.

When the answer comes back – "He hasn't returned yet, and he's not answering when we call." – she pulls Fuuta into a tight hug and murmurs in Italian to comfort herself. A simple prayer, barely over a whisper.

At six-thirty in the morning, halfway across the world, Bianchi and Fuuta are the fourth who hear the news.

"Take care of my little brother," she prays.

–––––––––––––––

At seven in the morning, Romario runs into the bedroom of his boss, not even caring that Dino is only one leg into his pants at the moment. Dino stares back at him as he catches his breath, a slightly angry, slightly curious, look on his face as they stand there in silence save for the panting the subordinate makes to get himself well-winded again.

"It's…Tsuna…" Romario squeezes out between breaths, hands on his knees.

In the recesses of his mind, Dino senses the news is bad, but he ignores it and pulls his other leg into his pants easily with his subordinate there. With a flourish he finishes dressing and finishes up his grooming – Romario knows he'll only ask when he _wants_ to hear the rest – and walks to the door. He brushes past his subordinate.

"I'll be in the study," he says with a smile that isn't forced but should be, he knows. "Tell me in there."

He's sitting at his desk a few minutes later, about twelve of his men and Romario in the room with him, standing and looking amongst themselves as if they don't want to be there. Romario bows his head, scratches his hair, and looks away. Dino merely looks at them, already knowing the news won't be good.

"Now, what is this about Tsuna? He's doing fine, I hope." And he does. He really, really does.

"Well, he's… Tsuna…is…he's…well, he's doing fine in one sense… Er…a…a _spiritual_ sense, you could say…" Romario says slowly, trying to take as long as he can before telling his Boss. There's no telling how he'll react, and they aren't quite sure if it would be good to tell him in the first place. Maybe he'll do something rash, like try to destroy the Millefiore base in Italy, or maybe…maybe…

"And in the…other sense?"

Dino stares at him, the look on his face clearly showing he already suspects what they're about to say.

"He's…not fine…in…er…in a _physical _sense…"

Dino's face is unreadable, but his eyes show he already understands exactly what they mean. He doesn't even blink as he speaks. "All of you, out of my study," he orders, but he makes sure to give them an explanation as he does. "I need some time to think."

He has to be strong for his men, they know. They know. It's only in private that he can show them anything other than their cool, collected boss, they know. They all leave the study, shutting the door behind them before they hear a loud thump from the desk and a shattering from the room.

Papers lie scattered on the floor, and the lamp is shattered over by the bookcase where it landed. Dino's shaking and acting very, very uncool, but he doesn't even care right now. With a scream of anger, he stands up, knocking the chair backwards into the wall, hands rising up and flipping the desk over as he clenches them tightly in front of his face. The Millefiore had made their move months ago, but it's only now that they've hit something so very crucial. Tsuna, like a little brother to him, a pupil of Reborn, just like him, is dead and any hope of winning against Byakuran has died with him.

It's only after Romario knocks on the door and asks if he's alright that he takes a deep breath, steadies his heart rate, and drops his hands to his side.

"I'm alright," he answers back.

He's alright, but he's not fine, no. How can he be fine after a blow like that? Nothing can be fine, not him or his men, not his family, not Tsuna's family, not even the world.

At seven-twenty in the morning, in Italy, Dino is the fifth to hear the news.

Nothing's fine at that moment; nothing can be fine ever again after that.

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It's Tetsu that tells him, and, though his subordinate's voice is heavy with remorse, he merely stares at the taller man and tells him to get out of his sight, that if he doesn't leave he'll be bitten to death. Tetsu rarely gets threatened with that, but when he is, he knows it's in his best interest to give Hibari some space.

The door behind him slams shut, and Hibari stares at the boxes in front of him, the various boxes he's bought to research, the seemingly countless rings scattered across the table, all disposable. Maybe one day he'll reserve power and re-use them, but for now he chooses to dispose of them with each use.

There's a chirping from the windowsill, and he looks up to see Hibird sitting there, chirruping the Namimori Middle School song.

It rings in his ears, and with an angry sound from the back of his throat, he mutters to himself–

"First that baby…and now the Vongola Tenth."

His eyes narrow just slightly; maybe they narrow out of pain, but that's only if he acknowledges it as such. Instead, it's a weight sitting in his chest, weighing everything down as if he's submerged in water and having difficulty taking a breath. He growls lowly, vicious and feral–

"Only the weak die young."

That is the only statement he has on the matter before getting right back to work, not willing to admit he's only pretending to get his mind off of the news. It eats away at the back of his head, though, etching permanently into his brain.

_The weak die young_ – it niggles his brain, burrowing deeper, deeper – _but sometimes…sometimes the good ones die young, too_.

At four in the afternoon in Japan but at another time elsewhere, Hibari is the seventh to hear the news.

The solitude he relishes makes him strangely uncomfortable today.

–––––––––––––––

Three hours have passed since Tsuna was supposed to meet with her for dinner. The sun's already set, and Kyoko goes back to her house and sits in the living room, waiting. Tsuna's not the type to stand anyone up, nor is he the type to be any more than thirty minutes late if he can help it. Vaguely, she wonders if something's happened to him.

That's when Ryohei walks in the door and takes his shoes off, puts them against the wall. He steps into the living room, face long, eyes narrowed. He looks as if he's been hit by a train, hair a mess and suit disheveled, tie hanging loosely down his chest. Something seems broken about him, but when he sees her, his face instantly brightens.

"Kyoko!" he shouts, louder than he usually does. It's forced, she can tell.

She messes with the hem of her dress and stands up, going to him, her face blank, waiting. They say nothing for a moment, until finally he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny velvet box.

"Tsuna is…sorry," he says, slowly. "He wishes to apologize that he couldn't make the dinner with you. He…is currently indisposed… Probably won't be back for a while. Work is very busy for him, you know!" Her brother forces out a chuckle, appraises her reaction as she takes the box from him.

When she opens it, it seems as though the box doesn't fit the style of the necklace inside, like the tiny chain and pendant have been deposited into a new box. Where the old box went, she has no clue. Somewhere, deep in the corners of her mind, she knows. Part of her knows Tsuna didn't miss their dinner for work – he hardly seems the type to do that, but if that really had been the case, Ryohei wouldn't be acting strange like this.

But, she smiles anyway, smiles and runs her hand over the necklace that fits her to a tee, smiles that Tsuna was going to give her something as pretty as this at their dinner this evening.

Ryohei mumbles, a small, honest smile, making its way to his face – Tsuna made his sister so very, very happy – as he offers to put it on her. She nods her head eagerly and hands him the box, turning around. As he takes the necklace and carefully – _Carefully, carefully_, he tells himself – unclasps it and drapes it around her neck, he numbly thinks it Tsuna should be the one doing this and not him.

When she turns back around to face him, he can't help the pain in his smile when he sees how it fits her perfectly, fits her personality and appearance, fits her gentleness and compassion.

"Tell Tsu-kun I love it when you see him, brother," she says, quietly, through misty eyes. "Tell him I said thank you."

Before he realizes it, he's pulling her into a tight hug, rubbing the back of her head as she wraps her arms around him and her tears start to fall.

Everything will be fine for her and for Haru. Giannini and the remaining allies in Japan have attended to things. The police don't have Tsuna's death on record, nor does the media have anything. A clean-up squad has already taken care of the jewelry shop and paid the manager off for silence and reimbursed him. As far as anyone's concerned, the mob hit at the jewelry shop is nothing but a rumor with nothing substantial to back it up. In time he'll have to tell Kyoko, but for now things can remain as they are.

They'll hold a private funeral for Tsuna, and no one has to know about it. Even though it's clear to Ryohei his sister knows something's happened, she doesn't have to know Tsuna's dead just yet. He'll let her believe Tsuna's just in the hospital or injured, or recovering or something; he'll let her believe for just a little bit longer.

By ten in the evening, they've swept everything under the rug and it's as if Tsuna is still alive.

Deep in her heart, Kyoko knows she won't see him again.


	3. Blood

_This chapter is…unsettling. Sorry if everything is really, really awkward._

_Maybe they're out of character…but. Yeah. Sorry._

_-frazzle-_

_I finally bring back Gokudera and Yamamoto…and they've completely snapped and started killing everyone in sight. Sorry. Sorry. _

_(I have the next chapter all written out, but I'm going to wait a while before posting it so I can figure out the chapter after that. It's giving me some trouble.)  
_

* * *

**Wordlessly**  
_Chapter Three_

He's rain, feeding the storm, feeding the rage that pulsates within them, feeding into himself and doubling over, spilling over the ground and leaving destruction in the storm's wake. And Gokudera… Gokudera lashes out, striking everything that moves, breaking arms and crushing ribs, ring boxes flying in the air and tumbling onto the ground, out of grasp, out of reach.

Screams echo in their ears, ringing louder and louder, but they are deaf to cries for help, pleads for mercy, prayers to God.

The storm rages, destroying everything in its path, winds picking up and beating against the car; men flee but do not escape. Thoughtlessly, out of control, building and building, growing more and more gruesome; blood splatters everywhere, staining the ground, staining the guardian's clothes, staining their hands. But it doesn't stop.

It can't stop; and somewhere deep in Yamamoto's mind, his humanity sucks in a breath and tries not to watch.

Blood pulses in their veins like a tempest, boiling over the surface and spilling out in streams, adrenaline pumping their hearts double time; and half of the blood isn't their victims, it's theirs, but none of that matters anymore. Faster, faster, until the echoed screams reverberating off the walls of the parking garage finally settle into the storm's rage heavy in the air.

And Yamamoto finally comes to his senses, there amidst the blood and bones and what he swears are tears running down his cheeks.

Blood splatters in his face, and he wipes it away as wide eyes stare back into eyes that are now glazing over with death. The man's head slumps to the ground, and over the noise of Gokudera's rage, Yamamoto can hear one last pitiful cry for mercy.

It goes unanswered, and with a loud, gut-wrenching crunch, Gokudera tries to turn the man's head into jelly on the pavement.

Gokudera shudders a breath as the last man goes down, shudders a breath and falls to his knees and fists his hands in his hair. He screams, louder and louder until Yamamoto can't hear anything else. But Yamamoto lets him scream; he stumbles back against the car and puts a hand against his forehead as he looks up at the ceiling of the parking garage and tries to ignore the blood dripping from his fingertips.

Humanity returns.

It hits them hard against the chest, knocks the wind out of them, and Yamamoto finally awakens to what has actually happened. He takes a deep breath and wipes his hands against his pants in a futile attempt to clean the blood off. But the blood has soaked into his pants; it's soaked into his skin and he can never be clean again.

Humanity returns, but only after they've been warped beyond recognition.

Yamamoto clenches his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut. There is no going back to those happy days on the school roof, no evening dinners at the sushi restaurant, no nights practicing into wee hours of the morning to get to the majors, no more nights sitting around with everyone discussing how to get a lead on Byakuran. When Gokudera finally stops screaming, stands, and walks over to the other man and falls into the car beside him, face against the slick, bloodied glass of the window…Yamamoto can't even look at him.

"We have to go back to headquarters before something happens," he murmurs tonelessly, going through the motions.

Gokudera's fingers comb through silver hair now tarnished with rust-red blood, but he says nothing.

"If they stopped at this garage, their base has to be close-by, Gokudera. We can't stay here," he presses, turning to look at the other man's shoes. "We have to go back."

Finally, Gokudera takes a deep breath, stumbling to the exit.

Instead of nodding, though, he shakes his head.

––––––––––––––

They walk back roads with barely any pedestrians, take long back-routes and maze-like roundabouts that take up most of the day. When they get back to the base, it's nearly midnight. With each step they get a little bit closer to the grim reality of Tsuna's death, get a little more damaged, a little emptier.

By the time they return to the base and collapse in their respective showers, wash the dirt and blood and grime to reveal countless wounds and bruises and injuries underneath, they are completely different people than they were just that morning.

At three in the morning, Yamamoto and Gokudera are in the medical room. They bandage themselves back up and try to mend the superficial injuries. Nothing compares to the deeper, emotional scars they've endured this day. They sit there in silence, with only an occasional grunt or groan from pain as they disinfect wounds and accidentally brush against bruises.

With a wince as he finishes bandaging a nasty gash from a switchblade that managed to escape detection and impact his chest, Gokudera finally speaks. He can't look at Yamamoto either, but he wants to believe the other man is taking everything far more calmly than he is.

"We can't…" He winces again as he tightens the bandages and tapes the strip down finish it off. "We can't…go back…" he mutters, easing backwards onto the bed and lowering himself gingerly into the mattress. He's throbbing with pain and wants nothing more than the strongest painkillers in the base pumping into his arm via syringe, and he's so, so close to passing out from the pain.

Yamamoto forces a broken smile onto his face – he is the Rain guardian. He's supposed to wash away all worries and troubles, bring people back down to earth. He can't center them, but he can at least help cleanse them. He has to give them hope; he has to give _himself_ hope. Maybe, they really can be cleansed. Maybe they _can_ go back to how things were, to who they were before today.

"We can try," Yamamoto answers, his voice dangerously close to a plea.

"Why bother!?" The other man's voice cracks.

Yamamoto finally turns to see green eyes on him. He opens his mouth to answer Gokudera, to give some reason to try and go back to how things were, but…but he can't–No, maybe he _can_ if he thinks really, really hard. Before he can try to offer up a name or a purpose, before anything else, Gokudera speaks again.

"He's _dead_, Yamamoto. There's nothing…no one… …There's no one to go back _to_."

Gokudera's quiet, breaking voice falls flat in the room, and the other man's forced smile fades.

He can't find anything to counter that, because Gokudera is absolutely right.


End file.
